


In Salt

by blanketed_in_stars



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (kinda), Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, this is so self-indulgent it's embarrassing BUT IT'S FOR A GOOD CAUSE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 03:57:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8562973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanketed_in_stars/pseuds/blanketed_in_stars
Summary: The light is low in the tent, but Bucky, trained by years of catching almost-hidden black eyes, is not fooled. “What’s up?” he asks again, and grabs Steve by the chin, turns his face to look at him full-on. “You been crying?”It ought to make Steve go red, being asked that, like he’s a kid or a dame, and he knows he would if anyone else had asked. But God help him, he feels his eyes grow hot again. “No,” he says, and yanks his chin away, staring at the canvas wall.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Palebluedot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palebluedot/gifts).



> This is dedicated to my beautiful friend [Audrey](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Palebluedot/pseuds/Palebluedot) who is a real-life shieldmaiden and is actually too good for this world. She had what amounts to a truly awful day.

“Hey,” comes Bucky’s voice, “hey now, Steve—Stevie, what’s up?” And he sits down on the cot beside him, which nearly collapses; as it is, the metal skeleton screeches alarmingly.

Steve takes a moment to get a handle on his voice but doesn’t lift his face from his hands. “‘M fine,” he says. The sound is muffled, which helps him sound steady. “‘M jus’ tired.”

Bucky clicks his tongue. “And here I was thinking you didn’t get that way anymore. Thought you were running high on whatever they juiced you up with.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, “if only.” The truth is that he _is_ exhausted, more so than he can ever remember being in his life, even when he was so sick that he’d passed delirium and could feel the weight of his own bones. He wonders if being stronger than everyone else means that everything is _more_ on the other end, too. Or—he sighs. Or maybe it’s just that he stared the end of the world in the face, and he can’t quite forget what it looked like.

“Well—” Bucky claps him on the shoulder. “You get some shut-eye, and we can go over the route in the morning. I’ll tell the boys you’re looking at Carter’s picture or somethin’.”

It’s the twist to his words at the last, the slightly bitter edge, that makes Steve’s heart wrench. “Just tell them I’m tired,” he says, and lets his hands drop. “They’ll understand.”

The light is low in the tent, but Bucky, trained by years of catching almost-hidden black eyes, is not fooled. “What’s up?” he asks again, and grabs Steve by the chin, turns his face to look at him full-on. “You been crying?”

It ought to make Steve go red, being asked that, like he’s a kid or a dame, and he knows he would if anyone else had asked. But God help him, he feels his eyes grow hot again. “No,” he says, and yanks his chin away, staring at the canvas wall.

“Come on,” Bucky says in that _aw, shucks_ tone. His fingers touch Steve’s shoulder and lift away again, and Steve pictures him with one hand raised, hesitant. His brows drawn together and his mouth a concerned frown. Something worth drawing. “Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?” Steve demands, because he won’t admit it but this frightens him, even more than the bombs and the bullets. He builds his voice up hard. “I said I’m tired, Buck.”

For a moment, there’s no response. Then—“Stevie.” That one word, and soft, and so full of care. “You don’t gotta use that shield with me, you know.” Then his hand finally settles, warm, on Steve’s shoulder. The touch is heavy and grounding, and it feels like home.

Steve turns before he can stop himself and takes Bucky’s hand in his own. He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t have to—Bucky does it for him. “I know,” Steve says, and it comes out strangled. “I—shit, Bucky—” A sob, more like a gasp, shudders out of him. He swallows. “Just look at me, huh?”

When he lifts his other hand to wipe his welling eyes, Bucky grabs it and holds it fast. “I am looking,” he says. His eyes are clear and wide. “It ain’t nothing new. I remember when your ma went—and hell, you’ve seen me cry, you know I get weepy at the pictures.” Bucky rubs his thumb in a circle over the back of Steve’s hand. “I am looking,” he says again.

Steve raises his hand—their hands, together—to press against his eyes as he cries, unable to bear it, all his soul filled with the salt of it. He feels Bucky gently pull his hands away and wrap his arms around Steve, draw him in, guide his head to rest on Bucky’s shoulder. Steve lets him. He shakes, and so does Bucky, with every breath.

“What is it?” Bucky murmurs. “What is it, sugar?”

Once again, Steve struggles to put himself together enough to answer. “I love you,” he mumbles with his face mashed against the rough of Bucky’s shirt. “A whole lot.”

When Bucky chuckles, it rumbles in Steve’s ribs. “You know you can just say so next time.” But it’s plain that Bucky’s waiting for the real answer.

Steve takes a minute to give it. “I got so scared in Azzano. Thought you weren’t gonna make it. When I saw you lying on that table…” He pulls back and sighs, long and trembling. “Then you got up, and I knew you were gonna be okay. Hell, you’ve been ruining my life ever since, just like always. But—” He shakes his head. “I just can’t shake it, Buck. My heart about stopped.”

There aren’t words for the expression on Bucky’s face. “Hey now,” he says, like he did when he first came in, and he puts his hand on Steve’s face, presses his palm there. “I’m here. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Leaning into the touch, Steve musters a smile. Trust Bucky to comfort Steve, a scarce week after escaping from the very jaws of hell, with all the quiet strength of a saint. It almost makes him start crying again, to be in the arms of such kindness. “Better not.”

“Cross my heart.” Bucky’s voice is light, but his eyes are solemn. “I got you, Stevie.” And he leans in, brushes his lips to Steve’s cheek, then finds his mouth. “Staying right here,” he breathes.

Clumsy, Steve kisses him back, though he isn’t sure how to love in this new body. It doesn’t seem to matter. He can taste the salt of his own tears in the kiss, at the same time as Bucky’s hands cup his neck, trace his jaw. Steve knows it’s fleeting, hasn’t counted on tomorrow in he doesn’t know how long. He clings to Bucky and kisses him with a desperate mouth. He doesn’t really feel any better—but it’s enough, he decides, just to be close for now.


End file.
